Pick Up the Pieces and Start Over Again
by morning sunlight
Summary: A companion piece to the end of 'A Letter Home'.
1. Big brothers, who'd want one?

**Pick Up The Pieces And Start Again

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**Disclaimer**: Neither Sam, Dean nor Supernatural are in anyway mine (unfortunately) – see E. Kripke and CW for ownership details.

**Summary**: A companion piece to the end of 'A Letter Home'

**Rating**: Some bad language

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_**Author's Note:** This starts just before and overlaps with the final chapter of 'A Letter Home' and explains Dean's injury. This chapter is told from Sam's Point of View.

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**Chapter One : Big Brothers – Who'd Want One?**

Killing the Mambolin had ended up being the least of the problems. That in itself had been a surprise. Dealing with the aftermath turned out to be more difficult by far, and it was all down to Dean, in Sam's opinion.

His brother had to be the most obstinate and obnoxious person on the planet right now. It should have been a straightforward shoot-to-kill but Dean had to be a Big Damn Hero about it and now look at the state of things.

Okay, neither of them could have known just how fast it moved, none of their research had mentioned speed. Mind you, in truth, all they had found out about it was that it was vicious and had sharp claws. Well, they were eyewitnesses to those facts now. They'd gone in armed to the teeth, carrying every possible combination that might just kill it.

Dean had won the bet; plain old buckshot, consecrated, had done for it, but not before it had taken a chunk out of his leg. Of course, if it had been that straightforward, Sam wouldn't have minded so much, but it never was that straightforward when Dean was around. It wasn't going to hurt Dean, in truth the angle it was coming in on, he was well out of the line of danger, but Dean being Dean had got in the way saving Sam. Too bloody typical by half.

Sometimes it appeared that Dean had some sort of preternatural speed that only kicked in when he wanted to put himself between his brother and danger. In fact for all they hadn't known about the Mambolin's speed, Dean's must have been a virtual match for it, to be able to get there in time.

And after Sam had picked himself up of the floor and manoeuvred the great dead thing (ugh! It had been truly repulsive and he shuddered even now to think about it) off his brother, he then had to prise its claws out of Dean's leg and then get his brother up and moving back to the Impala. A much quieter brother than the one he'd shared the car with earlier in the evening. Worryingly quiet in fact, he hadn't even fussed about getting blood in the Impala, which Sam knew was a significant factor in being able to judge how much pain Dean was in and how bad the injury was. It was too much to expect Dean to tell him anything useful and all he'd got so far by way of inquiries into the state of the injury was the assurance that it was bearable. The colour of his skin said otherwise but he hadn't let Sam look at it and had just insisted he get on with driving back to the motel.

He'd driven 'Dean speed' back, trying to get there quickly so he could get his brother inside and get a look at his leg. Rounding one corner a little too sharply, he'd had to adjust to keep control of the car and he was certain that the sharp intake of breath he'd heard from Dean was not due to concern for the car. Although having said that, he could have been wrong, because moments later, Dean had said 'What's the car done to you?'

'What? What are you on about Dean?'

'The car, you are handling it like, I don't know, but this is my car, man, look after it.'

'Feeble there Dean. Not up to your usual quip standard.'

'Yeah well I'm tired and nauseous, your driving is making me feel car sick and I never get car sick.'

'Sure it's my driving and not your leg.'

'Definitely your driving. Now concentrate before you run us off the road,' and with that he went quiet again.

He pulled up to the motel as close to their room as he could. As Dean reached for the door handle, he said,' Geez, just keep still Dean, stay here. I'll just get the door open and I'll help you in.' and with that he ran from the car to the door pulling the keys from his pocket.

As the door swung open, he turned back to Dean, 'Christ, Dean, I said to wait. What is the matter with you? Can't you do anything the easy way?' Sometimes he wondered if there was any common sense in Dean at all.

'Obviously not. I don't need you to mother hen me Sam. I can manage.' Sam watched as he took three steps away from the car before his injured leg gave way and he began to crumple face first towards the floor. Relief washed over Sam as he managed to grab hold of enough of Dean's leather jacket and arm to keep him from actually hitting the floor.

Disbelief and anger raced through Sam as he exclaimed, 'You're an idiot. What would it take to let me help you in? That thing's claws went straight through your leg, how do you expect to walk on it with the amount of blood that has been pouring out?' Sometimes, he thought, big brothers, who'd have them?

'Give it a break, Sam. My ears are in more danger of dropping off from the damage your whining is doing to them.' Still fighting admitting that anything was wrong, Dean acquiesced to the actual physical assistance whilst denying that he needed to do so – Sam marvelled at Dean's adamant determination that he was invulnerable. Fat chance!

Sam supposed it was a good sign that Dean was still trying to banter but he wouldn't be sure until he'd seen just how much of a mess his leg was for himself. 'Well they've not being doing you much good lately. Do you listen to anything I tell you? Don't answer that, I don't want to know the answer. What was that about anyway? You do not have to put yourself between me and every evil thing that comes along. I could have shot it, just the same as you.'

'Yeah, but it would have hurt you first before you could have shot it.'

Sometimes, the man could just wear a person down with his persistent self-sacrifice but persistence ran in the family, a definite Winchester trait and he wasn't going to give up easily either. One day, Dean would get the message, either that or he would have been proved right and Sam would be dead. No, Sam wasn't going to let him win that bet. 'What? You mean, instead of it hurting you? Dean, this is stupid, we've had this conversation before. I do not expect you to sacrifice yourself to keep me safe. I know what we do, I know what the risks are and I am not a child anymore.'

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_**Author's Note**: This is written in response to the suggestions that some people wanted more from 'A Letter Home'. As there would be no more letters once the boys were together, I thought I would give it a go separately. There will be some overlap with the final chapter of that piece as we progress forwards. So please review and let me know if you like the way its going._


	2. Who did he think he was calling stubborn

**Pick Up the Pieces and Start Again

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**Chapter Two: Stubborn, who did he think he was calling stubborn?**

Dean collapsed on the bed. A momentary relief washed over him. It was short-lived. He knew the Mambolin had messed up his leg, now he was just hoping he could sort it out on his own. If only he could convince Sammy to give him some time on his own. Knowing there was absolutely no chance of that, he suggested sleep.

But Sam wasn't biting…' No way. Not yet. Not until I've sorted your leg out.' Scratch that idea then. Sam wasn't going to go to sleep and Dean was realist enough not to hold out any hope of Sam leaving him alone now. Sam was a stubborn s.o.b. when he got his teeth stuck into something.

Sam flicked another light on and Dean moved trying to keep out of the light. He had a headache to top it all off. As his weight shifted, he winced and the nausea he'd felt earlier came back big time. Okay so maybe, Sam had a point; maybe he could do with a little help. 'Just pass me the first aid kit and I'll do it. In fact, just give me a hand to the bathroom and I'll do it there.'

Compromise. That was definitely the way to go. Surely Sam would see that and let a man retain some dignity. Okay so maybe it wasn't quite that straight forward, maybe he should be asking for help but Sammy would only worry if he saw the mess that used to be his leg.

'No, I'm doing it. I don't care what you say. I'm not giving in, you can be as stubborn as you like, but we're doing this my way. Come on, it'll be easier in the bathroom anyway, the light's better in there too. What have you been eating? You weigh a ton!'

Great, so now Sam thought he could call his brother stubborn did he? And as for weighing a ton, who did he think he was? Dean had looked in the mirror often enough to know that he was a fine physical specimen unlike his brother who could pass as cute but was gangly and lanky with really unnaturally long limbs. Nothing wrong with my figure went coursing through Dean's mind and came out as 'I do not. And it's got nothing to do with what I eat and everything to do with muscle. I'll have you know this body is a finely honed fighting machine.'

'A finely honed fighting machine that gets its fuel from burgers, fries and sodas. Would you even recognise a vegetable if one turned up on your plate? Come on, help me out here.'

Hell if he felt better he'd give Sam a piece of his mind, but right now, it was all he could do to stand up, staggering with Sam's help to the bathroom and not throw up on the way. What was with the nausea already? 'Dean, Dean, stay with me here man. Don't lose focus now.'

What the hell did Sam think he was doing? If he wasn't focusing right now, he'd be a lump on the floor and he'd definitely be throwing up. Focus, ass. He gulped again, one hand going to his mouth reflexively. Oh he so wasn't going there. He just had to FOCUS! It wasn't that hard.

'Is it that bad?'

Stupid question right now Sam, I'm trying to focus here, just quit talking to me, the thoughts trailed sluggishly through his head as he answered, 'Not great Sam, not great,' Relief washed over him as he sat down onto the toilet seat. 'That helps.' He could see his brother's eyes. God how much did he hate that look.

'I'm sorry Dean but we're going to have to get your jeans off, so I can get at it properly.'

Dean nodded an acknowledgement. Taking a deep breath, he loosened the button then pulled himself up. 'Go and get the kit from the car. I'll be ready when you get back. Go Sam, this bit I can manage and if I don't you know where you'll find me,' ironically enough, even as he pointed at the floor trying to make light of the situation, he figured it was actually becoming not just a possibility but a likelihood.

He knew Sam wasn't happy but was relieved to see him go anyway and as soon as he turned to go, Dean bit his lip to hold back the cry that he was fairly sure was going to want out and with that dragged his jeans down over the wound in his leg quickly.

Yep, that was the floor alright, he'd seen worse. In fact, he'd seen worse close up before now. Anyway he had to pull himself together and assess the damage pretty quick or Sam would be back. Shit! It was a mess. He pulled a towel down and hid it but it wasn't enough, the nausea got the better of him and he began to retch. As the wave passed, he leant back against the bath and passed his hand wearily over his face.

'You fell?' so Sammy was back. If he'd just pass that first aid kit over, then Dean thought he might be able to tackle his leg if he could just get a couple of the good painkillers inside him. Of course, he'd have to be quick, because they were also likely to knock him out.

For now, he just needed to stick with the banter and convince Sam there was nothing to worry about. 'Not exactly. It was just easier to be here and throwing up than there. I think I ate something off earlier.'

'Do you indeed? No way, it could be shock or pain or maybe that thing had poisonous claws? What do you reckon Dean? It couldn't possibly be anything to do with the fact that you have a whopping great hole in your leg now, could it?' He could hear it loud and clear, Sammy was pissed and who could blame him. Fucking disaster of a big brother and the poor sod had been lumbered big time. The tiles on the floor really were worth examining, anything was worth it so long as he didn't have to look at Sam. Right now, he didn't want to see the look of disappointment and irritation, he knew it was well-deserved but he just couldn't face it. 'Dean, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I just, I hate to see you hurt.'

Too soft, that was his brother's problem. One thing Dean knew he hadn't earned was sympathy; he'd got hurt because he'd made a mistake and put his brother in danger. It was the least he'd deserved, Sam should have stayed at Stanford, instead he'd let Dean ruin his life but right now, he didn't have the energy to try and sum up this or any other response for Sam. 'Yeah me too.'

'You managed to get your jeans off I see. You gonna hitch round let me see your leg?'

'No, it's okay. It's not as bad as you thought now I've seen it. I can manage, just leave me the stuff. I'll give you a shout if I need you; pull the door to behind you.' Just accept the lie Sammy; you don't want to see what a mess I'm in, what a mess I've made.

'I think not. This leg that is supposedly not as bad as I think has already bled through the towel you've covered it with Dean. Now let me see, let me put us both out of our misery.' As Sam reached out to grab his foot Dean could see the intention to move it but Sam's hand had barely brushed it before agony shot through his foot and up his leg, 'Aargh! Watch it! Don't grab at me like that!' He wished he could pretend he was over-reacting but the reality was the whole leg now felt like pure fire.

'Dean, I only touched it, sure I was going to move it but I didn't, let me see because if it hurt that much it isn't good.' Sam had a point. Finally accepting and admitting that he wasn't going to be able to handle it himself, Dean turned his body towards his brother, dragging the offending leg round, then clamped his hand over his mouth, breathing rapidly through his nose trying desperately to calm his stomach, sweat breaking out on his forehead.

Dean was aware of his brother's eyes watching, wary and concerned, 'You okay?' Dean forced his breathing to slow and gradually the nausea abated. 'You ready for me to start?' Sam was waiting for an answer, Dean knew he had to make some kind of indication. No, it was no good, all he could manage was the barest of nods before sinking back against the bath and closing his eyes.

'Oh God.' Sam's exclamation had Dean bolting upright again and his eyes momentarily catching Sam's before his head dropped back again and the beads of sweat appearing on his forehead appeared to intensify.

Dean closed his eyes and tried to think of anything other than what was happening with his leg. His brother's hands were sure and quick, gentle and thorough but they couldn't stop it hurting and they couldn't take away the nausea he was fighting. What would Dad say 'Suck it up, soldier. A little pain never did anyone any real harm. Don't show signs of weakness, it'll never get you anywhere. ' Right now, Dean considered all the comments particularly futile and it had been a good job nothing hurt this much when his Dad had said them because he figured he might have been the one to argue back and he might have gone off to College ahead of Sammy.

Sam was watching him again. It was funny how he could tell even with his eyes shut. The only thing worse than Sammy watching, was Sammy thinking and right now Dean was pretty sure that he was doing both. What was the guy's problem, he was sitting as still and quiet as he could, he had made very little complaint despite the agony he was in. He hadn't even asked for the painkillers (although that could have been a mistake in hindsight – mind you the way his stomach felt right now, he'd be lucky if he kept any down long enough for them to work). The wound was angry and not only had it gone straight through just near the knee but in part it was long as if the creature had dragged the claw along the edge of the bone and muscle and it felt like Sam was taking an eternity to fix it back up. Realistically, Dean knew that he was working as swiftly as he could, cleaning it as best he could trying not to cause any more pain but Dean wasn't actually in a position to acknowledge any of that right now. It wasn't quick or gentle enough as suddenly, Dean shot up from his resting position, shoving him away with a warning sob of 'Sam!' before starting to retch into the toilet again.

'Hey, just breathe', Dean could hear Sam's calming words and tried to relax as he felt his brother rubbing circles on his back until the retching calmed, then Sam helped to ease him back to the position he'd had before. This sucked. He heard Sam stand up and fetch water and a damp facecloth. Dean sipped a little of the water gratefully before Sam took the glass back and placed the cloth on Dean's forehead and looked at his eyes. Dean knew he was struggling to stay focused but it was just too difficult right now and if he passed out, well what the hell…

He struggled to pull himself together for Sam's sake if nothing else. 'You going to get on with it?' Dean's voice was gravely and uncertain.

'Sure. You'll be fine.'

'Course I will. I've got an ace lawyer sorting my leg out what more could I ask for?' he'd heard the concern in Sam's voice and would have done anything to take it away, right now wit was the best effort he could go with and he wasn't convinced he'd done very well with that.

'Hmm. Very witty Dean. Now just try and hold still.'

'Not going anywhere, bro. not going anywhere.' He was exhausted and grateful that Sam turned back to his leg.

'What the hell?' Sam's outburst brought his focus back again.

As his brother moved to retrieve the tweezers from the box lying between them, Dean's hand dropped on top of his. Dean waited until Sam looked up and into his eyes before he forced out the single word query, 'What?'

'I don't know. There's something in there. I'm going to have to get it out. I'll be as quick as I can but I need to make sure it's all clean.' Dean swallowed slowly and nodded. Sam turned back with the tweezers and dug straight into the wound, wincing himself as he heard Dean's sharp intake of breath. He pulled out the offending item, relieved to see it come out in one piece so he didn't have to dig around too much more. It was still too much for Dean who pushed him feebly away as he started to retch again. Nothing left now, but bile, anxiety and pain. Sam waited, supporting his brother's weight as he seemed to get weaker with each stomach convulsion. Eventually it stopped and Dean leant back again allowing Sam to continue with the work on his leg.

Fortunately, the worst of it was over and Sam was able to clean it up and stitch the edges together rapidly and without further incident. Dean could sense the relief rippling outwards from his brother as he finished and rocked back onto his heels, 'Done. You're all good now. Let's go and get you into bed.'

'Sam?' Dean knew this was going to be more trouble, but right now he was going to have to own up to needing Sam to do something more for him.

'Yeah Dean, it's me. I've finished your leg. Let's get you up.'

'No. I need…' if only Sam would listen…

'Come on bro, let me tell you what you don't need. You don't need to spend any more time sitting on this floor; you need to lie down in bed.'

'I need you to…' he tried again. God it was so hard to think and Sam just kept on interrupting.

'Come on Dean.'

He tried again, 'Sam! Stop!' and with that Dean began to struggle with his t-shirt.

'Dean, what is it?' Sam knelt down again to help where his brother seemed to be struggling to co-ordinate his limbs. 'Shit! It got you there as well. You didn't say anything.'

'Not as bad.' Relief the t-shirt was off and well what was Sammy going to do about it, right now, he didn't care what Sam did so long as he helped clean it up because Dean was admitting that he couldn't do it.

'You weren't going to tell me about this bit were you? You've only told me 'cos the other bit was so bad you can't do it yourself. I don't get you at all, man.' Dean sighed and was surprised to hear his brother do the same. The scratches were nowhere near as bad as the leg wound and Sam made quick work of cleaning and covering them before helping Dean up from the floor and through to the bed.

'Cold.' It was an understatement, right now Dean was freezing and he was also weak and tired.

'I'll get you a t-shirt from your bag, just hold on.' Sam turned and grabbed Dean's bag setting it down on his own bed, rummaging through looking for a loose fit t-shirt. He passed over an old but clean Metallica t-shirt and helped Dean get it on. 'Don't lie down just yet, I'll get you some painkillers first.' Now that was a good suggestion, probably the best Dean had heard in a while.

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**_Author's Note: Please do review and let me know what you think. This is also where I say a special thank you to Rae Artemis for her betaing and putting me right when I write too much in English English - if you know what I mean_**


	3. I never really knew him before, did I?

**Pick Up the Pieces and Start Again

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**

**Disclaimer**: Neither Sam, Dean nor Supernatural are in anyway mine (unfortunately) – see E. Kripke and CW for ownership details.

**Summary**: A companion piece to the end of 'A Letter Home'

**Rating**: Some bad language

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_**Author's Note:** Thank you to Rae Artemis for her help as beta.

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**Chapter Three: I never really knew him before, did I?**

Sam handed his brother the tablets and then he helped Dean lie down and get comfortable pulling the blanket over him, watching with some degree of relief as his brother slipped rapidly into a much needed sleep. Even Dean had limits and Sam had no idea how he'd stayed conscious throughout the ordeal in the bathroom, but at least now maybe things could start to improve and he should be feeling a bit better (definitely still sore) when he woke up. With that thought, Sam flipped the TV on and flicked through the channels, looking for something worth watching. Nothing. His curiosity had been piqued by the papers he had rummaged past in his brother's bag. Maybe they were something to do with Dad, maybe he could solve the puzzle of where exactly his father had gone, maybe Dean had missed something and if they weren't anything to do with that, he wouldn't read them, he'd just put them back and ignore them.

He leant over to the bag which was still resting on his bed and started to delve again. It only took a moment to find them and pull them from the bag. They were all bundled together with a band, he snapped the band off and opened the first of the papers, and began to read,

'Sam,

I don't know why I'm writing this down as I have no intention of sendingit to you and have written you a postcard instead. Like I say, all is fine here and I am working flat out to deal with the jobs that need sorting. …'

Shit. That wasn't what he'd expected. He closed it and opened the next…

'Happy New Year Sam

Hope you had a good Christmas and that you enjoyed yourself with your friends and up at Jessica's folks. Actually, that's not true. Sure that's what I wrote on your postcard but actually I hope it sucked, so that maybe, just maybe you will look back at our family Christmases and you won't be so disappointed…'

A sense of foreboding flooded his system, but he didn't stop, instead he went through the pile and read the start of each one. It didn't take long for him to realise that many were letters to him, letters Dean had written but never sent during his time at Stanford. They were interspersed with the letters he had sent to Dean. Why had Dean written letters and never sent them? Puzzled, he went back to the first and began to read. He looked over at his still sleeping brother. Guilt swept through him, he had never realised just how much Dean hurt when he left.

He picked up the next and read again. 'Well Sam, suck it up, you really are a selfish bastard,' he whispered. Dean never gave a hint that this was what had really been going through his mind. He'd never guessed how lonely Dean must have been feeling, neglected and ignored by his family. Unappreciated would have been an understatement. Sam considered how his own ignorant letters full of complaints about all they had missed out on would have hurt his brother more. If he had truly put some thought into it, he would have known that it was Dean and not Dad who had kept track of birthdays and Christmases and made sure there was some acknowledgement of the day, some semblance of family on those days, and he had ridiculed that, saying Jess' family did it properly. Dean protecting him, he thought back over his life and couldn't remember a time when Dean hadn't protected him, even when he was angry or hurt, he still protected his little brother and now it seemed he'd even protected him when he was at Stanford, protected Sam from his own loneliness and despair, choosing instead to suffer alone.

Reading on he found out about his father's growing distance, and Dean's belief that he was the failed son, the one his Dad hadn't wanted despite his every effort to please. All these years when Sam had thought he was a disappointment and he could see them now if he tried through Dean's eyes. It wasn't that Dad had thought Sam weak, he'd wanted him protected and not in the way of danger and evil. It wasn't that Dad hadn't wanted him to go to Stanford; it was that away from himself and Dean, he didn't know how to protect his youngest son. It wasn't that Dad had thought Dean was a better son and more of a soldier, he'd not valued Dean's childhood at all and his life was only important in relation to the time he spent looking after his brother. Sam wondered which of them had been right, the opposing view of John Winchester's relationship with his sons was a shock but he could see how you could read it either way. It was a mess that would someday have to be unravelled. It needed sorting for Dean's sake more than anything else because he couldn't continue with his suicidal mission to protect Sam at all costs. Sam wasn't going to let his brother be a sacrifice no matter what sort of brain-washing his father had inflicted. He read on and saw the point at which the final straw had been reached; the absolute desertion of his son, abandoning Dean to a life of not knowing what had happened, weeks spent trawling hospitals and morgues looking for his father before in desperation he had turned to his brother for help.

Sam shrugged deeper into the covers on his bed, seeking some sort of warm solace, recognising the part he had played in bringing Dean to this state, knowing how he had felt when his brother turned up asking for help. Help he had only begrudgingly given, it had been a very fine line he had walked and he knew how close he had come to refusing Dean that weekend. Guilt washed over him again as he recognised that he had only given in, in the hope that it would get Dean away from Jess quicker, Dad found and then he'd be left alone again but maybe he'd have had a chance to make things better with Dad. So his reasons for joining Dean had been selfish, what was new? Most aspects of his relationship with his brother revolved around his own selfishness. He regretted it, he'd never looked at his life from Dean's point of view, he'd been selfish, Dad had encouraged it and Dean had let him get away with it.

Sam knew these letters provided a lot of answers to just who Dean was, why it was that Dean always put himself in danger to save Sam, why there were so many things he wouldn't say. Sam glanced over at his brother and promised to do better by him. He folded the letters carefully and put them back in Dean's bag, then reached over for his own, he moved aside the clothes until he found the envelope he was looking for and pulled it out. He'd never been sure why he'd kept either of the letters in the envelope after writing, the first and last letters to Dean from his time at Stanford, maybe it was meant to be. Now he'd seen Dean's unsent letters, maybe fate was dictating and saying that it was time for Dean to see his. 'Forgive me, Dean. I won't leave you behind again. I can't hunt forever, but I won't turn my back when I go, I promise you that.'

He crossed to the other bed, reaching down he felt his brother's forehead to check for fever, smoothed the sweat slicked hair and settled the cover again, tucking his brother in as Dean had done so often for him when they were younger. He put the envelope on the nightstand propped against the bedside lamp, then moved back to his own bed where he undressed and lay down to sleep. Tomorrow they could start putting things right between them. Sam promised the mother he only knew from the stories Dean had told him that he would make sure of it.

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**_Author's Note: So do you like it? Let me know – reviews are appreciated and I've now reached the point at the end of 'A Letter Home' so it is new territory but not plain sailing!_**


	4. Wasn't Making the Decision the Hard Part

**Chapter 4 – Making the Decision should have been the Hard Part, Shouldn't it?

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**Disclaimer**: Neither Sam, Dean nor Supernatural are in anyway mine (unfortunately) – see E. Kripke and CW for ownership details.

**Summary**: A companion piece to the end of 'A Letter Home'

**Rating**: Some bad language

**_Author's Note: Thanks to Rae Artemis for her help as beta._**

**_Please review and let me know what you think. Thanks._**

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Sam left the envelope with his first and last letters (the only ones he had never sent) on the nightstand by his brother's bed. He hoped it was the right thing to do; maybe it would go someway to healing the rift that had developed between them. 

He checked on Dean once more before heading off to get ready for bed himself. As he came out of the bathroom, he decided to leave the light on with the door ajar. It would cast just enough light for him to check on Dean without being enough to disturb their sleep.

With that Sam drifted into an exhausted sleep of his own. And so for a couple of hours, all was quiet in the motel room, as both brothers slept the sleep of the just. However, appearances can be deceiving and things with the Winchesters are never simple.

It was about three when Dean half-woke, aware only of the pain in his leg and the heat. He felt like he was in a furnace. He rolled over and tried to throw the covers off but as his back hit the mattress, he jerked upwards, aware of a new pain. The same sensation but not quite as intense as the one in his leg. God, it was hot in here. Convinced he needed to do something, anything to get the heat in the room down he moved round to get up.

He rose carefully, adjusting his weight to his sound leg. Taking a deep breath he set off for the air-conditioning controls and the bathroom in search of cold water. Three steps, it was becoming a habit, three steps and that was it. He felt himself begin to fall, in fact crumple would have been a more accurate description, another habit in the waiting. He tried to angle himself to Sam's bed for a softer landing – sure Sam would be pissed but he'd live with it.

Well he would have done had he landed where he intended… but he missed, succeeding only in grabbing a handful of the comforter from Sam's bed and banging his head against the bed frame.

'What the…? Dean?' Sam shot up, looking at Dean's bed to see it empty, no sign he'd made it to the bathroom either, Sam looked to the direction the comforter had gone, Dean lay inert and silent on the floor at the end of the bed, his body in part concealed by the bed itself. Sam dived down to join him, flicking the bedside light on as he went. 'What were you doing?'

Dean was silent and unmoving. Sam rolled his body over registering the heat pouring off of him. Clothes, not sticky with sweat, were another bad sign and a growing crimson patch on the bandages round his leg was also a worry.

'Why didn't you call me? Now look, you've opened the wound on your leg again.' It was easier to tell him off now when there were no smart retorts and it helped Sam get it out of his system before his brother was listening and got riled. He thought back to earlier in the evening when he had been ranting at Dean about throwing up, Dean's expression, the way he had hung his head, the aura of defeat and failure etched in the lines of his body. It was definitely better for them both if Sam got the rant out of his system while Dean couldn't hear him. They didn't need anything more between them. Sam had made a promise that he was going to heal the rift that had grown between them, not make it worse, but Dean really knew how to make a man suffer to keep his promise, even when he didn't know about the promise!

Having moved Dean to a less obviously painful position, Sam stood up, flicking on more lights and retrieved water and the first aid kit from the bathroom. As he returned, he caught sight of a crimson stain on Dean's bed. 'Well, that's not good bro, but I take back what I said, maybe it's why you fell rather than it opening again because you fell. I'm going to have to take another look whatever…'

Still no response. The increased light helped Sam see a whole new catalogue of injuries, a trickle of blood down the side of Dean's face could be traced back up to a small cut which accompanied a growing egg and what looked like it was going to be an impressive bruise marred the underside of his bicep. 'Ouch! You really know how to accumulate injuries don't you Dean? I'd have thought you had enough earlier in the evening, but here you are with a new set to accompany them.' Sam wondered whether Dean had knocked himself unconscious on the fall or whether he had lost consciousness before. His breathing was fine, deep and even, which was one good sign. He fetched ice from the machine which was fortunately not far from their door and wrapped some in a towel and held it to his brother's head. As the cold seeped through, Sam received his first good sign as Dean tried to flinch away. He didn't seem to have the energy to make any real effort to escape but at least the response showed he was not deeply unconscious, although Sam still wanted him to wake up so he could check on him properly. He replaced the ice with a wet cloth that he had soaked in the ice, figuring it might stay there a while without him holding it, allowing him to work on Dean's leg.

He began to unwind the bandage from Dean's leg and as each layer came off, the stain grew. It had obviously been seeping from the wound for a while. The heat coming from Dean's body was amazing; he was going to have to get Dean's temperature down. One job at a time though, first priority was going to have to be stopping this bleeding. As the last of the bandage came away from the wound, Sam gasped. He thought it had looked angry before, but now he didn't have the words to describe what he saw. He cut away the stitches and started cleaning the wound out again – he was sorely tempted just to take Dean to the nearest E.R. but he wasn't convinced that they'd be able to do anymore for it unless…

Nothing in life is simple, he reflected. He'd make a decision and Dean knew just how to stop him carrying through with it. Having decided he would take Dean to the hospital, Dean picked that point to wake up, 'Whatcha doing?' he croaked hoarsely.

'Hey! You're back. What were you up to?'

'When?'

'Before you hit the floor face down?' Sam continued cleaning as they talked, glancing up to see the confused expression on his brother's face.

'I don't know. It's kinda hot in here. Why'd you turn the heating up? You that cold?'

'No man. You're that hot and not in a good way. Hold still, your leg's a mess.' He had finished cleaning it up, and proceeded to douse it with holy water for good measure and before starting to re-stitch it.

'It's hot in here, Sammy.' Dean looked at his brother where he was leant over. 'Whatcha doing?'

'What? Dean, we've just had this conversation. Are you okay?'

'I feel kinda hot.'

'Yeah. Just hold still another minute and we'll try and cool you down.'

'Are you hot too?'

'No, Dean. It's just 'cos you're not well.'

'I'm not? What happened?'

'Don't you remember? You were injured. I'm cleaning your leg out again, you were losing blood again.'

'Sam?'

'Yeah.'

'I don't feel so good.'

'I bet.'

'I'm hot and…' Sam sighed, this was not good. 'I think I'm going to…' Dean's hand clamped on his mouth before he said anything more. Sam reached for the trash can, handing it over just in time as Dean began to retch. It didn't last long, he'd got nothing left but bile and he was so exhausted that his body couldn't summon the energy for even the retching anymore. He slumped against the bed.

'You okay?'

'Not really. You finished?'

'Just need to wrap your leg. You want some water?'

'Uh-huh.' His eyes were half closed.

'Stay awake for now, Dean. Talk to me.'

'Lonely bro.' his hand shook as he took the water cup from Sam and water sloshed over the side, 'Fuck.'

'Let me help you.'

'I'm sorry Sam.'

'What for?'

'You were pissed at me earlier. I can't remember right now why but I'm sorry.'

'No. It's okay Dean, we're okay. Now come on drink some of this.' Moving to sit by Dean, Sam took hold of his hands and held them steady while he sipped at the water. When after a few sips, he made to put the cup down, Sam said, 'No you need to drink more than that. Come on. Slowly's fine but you've got to keep at it.'

'You can be a real mother hen, Sam.'

'Yeah, I know.' Sam was relieved the longer he kept Dean talking the more coherent he seemed to be. 'You're still kind of hot… How about sucking on some ice chips, it might help your throat as well.'

He got another cup and fetched some more ice. On his return, he put it by his brother and reached for the ice he had brought earlier, replacing the ice that had been wrapped in a towel and lifting it back to the bump on Dean's head. 'So…'

'Sam?'

'Yeah.'

'What did I do?'

'What did you do? When?'

'Before. To piss you off.'

'What do you remember Dean?'

'You were at Stanford. I came and got you. I'm sorry.'

'Dean, is that the last thing you remember?' This was beginning to look really bad. If that was the last thing Dean remembered he'd lost almost a year's worth of memories.

'No. You cleaned my leg before, there were mirrors and your eyes were…, I fell outside, someone drowned, I've thrown up before, the Impala its lights I had to replace, Jessica, you stitched my leg already, not just now, before, Dad, his face, Sam, I… You're… I'm sorry. It's all confused. I'm sorry.' His voice, croaked and sore as it was, was reaching a panic level Sam didn't associate with his normally very together brother.

'Hey, calm down. Breathe, it's okay, just breathe, everything will be fine.'

'I'm sorry.'

'Stop saying that Dean. You don't need to be sorry for anything.'

'It's all so confused. I can't get it straight. Sam…'

'Sssh! Just breathe. We'll sort it all out, don't worry.' Sam kept his voice calm, trying to reassure Dean. He figured he could worry enough for the two of them on his own anyway. The good thing was Dean obviously remembered plenty of the events over the last year even if they were all jumbled. 'You feel up to getting back into bed?'

'I don't… Sure…'

Sam looked at him, wondering what he'd been going to say. 'Hold on here, I'll just sort it so you can rest.' He stripped the bloodied sheet and replaced it with the top sheet before fixing the other covers back.

'Sam?'

'Yeah?'

'You going?'

'Going?'

'Yeah.'

'Going where Dean?'

'Away. Going back to Stanford.'

'Not tonight Dude. It's way too late,' he tried to make light of the conversation, Dean wasn't really in a fit state for the heart-to-heart they needed to have.

'So you are going back.' His voice was calm, distant and Sam couldn't bear it.

Moving back, he knelt in front of his brother, 'Look at me, I'm not leaving you, whatever happens, I'm not leaving you Dean. Now come on, that's enough of that sort of talk, let's get you up and onto the bed where it's more comfortable.' And with that he helped Dean back to bed. As he turned to retrieve the water and the ice, he saw the envelope. He picked it up and moved it away, he'd wait until Dean was better then they'd sort this out. In the meantime, he'd just make sure that Dean was okay.


	5. Starting to make it better

_**Chapter 5 - Starting to make it better**_

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_**Disclaimer:** The usual - see Chapter 1 as I still don't own anything._**_

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Chapter 5 - Starting to make it better_**

Sam sat and watched as Dean drifted back to sleep. He replaced the cooling cloth on his forehead and wrapped ice in towels and placed them round his body. It was going to be a long night. He flicked the TV back on, repeats of Oprah and Ricki Lake, wonderful. It was definitely going to be a long night.

He flicked the laptop on, caught up on emails, browsed for jobs, and then surfed aimlessly just passing the time between checking on Dean and replacing the ice and cloths. He woke his brother up regularly and got him to drink more water, each time Dean seemed to be just a little bit cooler and a little bit more coherent.

Finally, deciding Dean's temperature had come down enough to leave him sleep, Sam turned off the TV and laptop and climbed into his own bed and feel asleep.

Hours passed and both men slept. A deep, healing sleep, soothing hurts, calming nerves, readying them for the fights ahead. Dean was the first to wake, groggy and parched and still too warm for his own liking but nowhere near the heat of the night before. Pulling himself to a sitting position, he reached across to the nightstand for the cup of water Sam had left. Hands still shaking, he paused before picking the cup up. No, he was just going to have to go for it and hope he didn't drop it or spill it; he wasn't going to wake Sam for this. It took all his concentration to steady his hand enough to reach and secure the cup and as he brought it closer, he was relieved Sam hadn't refilled it or most of the contents would have been anywhere but in the cup.

Putting it back, he leant back against the wall and rested. He knew he could do with some more painkillers as the throb in his leg was increasing again but they weren't within easy reach of the bed. He could also do with a trip to the bathroom but he had a vague recollection of getting up and falling during the night, couldn't really remember too many details but he'd already found a lump on his head and his arm was sore, he thought he could remember snatches of a conversation with Sam but he wasn't sure. He remembered his brother's face, worried, he'd been close up, he'd said something important, something he needed to remember. Had they been talking about Stanford? Had he asked Sam if he was going back? What had his answer been? God, this thinking and trying to remember what had happened was really putting a strain on his headache. He closed his eyes and wished he could drift back to sleep. It was no good, his leg was definitely going to stop that.

He manoeuvred his body to the edge of the bed, the memory of falling was coming clearer and the pain in his leg was not reassuring that the same wouldn't happen again. He looked over at Sam. He was going to piss him off by either waking him now for help or by falling; lesser of two evils was waking him before anything went wrong. 'Sam,' he croaked out. Boy, was his throat sore and his mouth tasted foul, like he'd been… yep, he remembered that now as well, definitely throwing up, he owed Sam a serious apology if he'd been that out of it. What had happened before? Could he work it out before he woke Sam? He remembered being here and Sam having to do something to his leg, probably that was putting the bandage on that was there now, but he couldn't remember what he'd done to his leg to warrant the attention. Whatever it was, it hurt like hell? If he asked Sam, would it worry him? Maybe he should just keep quiet for a while and see how much he could piece back together, in the meantime… 'Sam?' He forced his voice a bit louder regardless of the discomfort.

'Mm. Yeah?' The mumbled response came as Sam shifted position but didn't quite wake fully.

It wasn't like Sam often got a solid night's sleep, but regretting it wasn't going to change the fact. Dean tried again, 'Sam, I need a little help here…'

'Dean!' He leapt from the bed catching them both by surprise. 'What's the matter?'

'Easy tiger!'

'Sorry, I was asleep not quite with it, yet. You okay?'

'Just need a hand and not feeling too good about standing up just yet.'

'Leg not good then? How's the temperature?'

'It's getting better Sam. Just I don't want to push my luck. I need to…' he nodded his head to the bathroom and looked down at the ground, 'I'm sorry. I didn't want to wake you, I…'

'Dean, it's okay, come on, give me your arm, bro.'

The improvement in the heat coming off of Dean was a good sign, he was definitely still too hot for healthy but not dangerously so. He also seemed far more lucid than the night before, although his throat must be sore judging by the gravel-like quality to his voice. More worrying was the fact he was struggling to put any weight on his leg. Having reached the bathroom, Dean spoke again, 'Thanks Sam. I can manage from here, but you'll help me back, please?'

'Sure, I'll be outside, just let me know you need anything.' Dean nodded. Sam left, amazed at the change in his brother. He was far too compliant, as if all the fight had gone from him. The journey from bed to bathroom seemed to have taken it out of him, but Sam wasn't sure it was that simple, the thought nagged that what had actually taken it out of him was the fact that he'd had to ask for help. Dean, ever independent and the protector, was the one in need of help and he didn't know how that role worked. Anytime he'd really needed them, his family had walked away from him, was he waiting for that to happen now? Sam thought back to when Dean had broken his leg when they were younger, Dad had been fuming at the prospect of downtime away from the hunt and worried sick about Dean's leg. Sam remembered the overheard telephone conversation, Dad had had with Pastor Jim. that had provided an unexpected (at least as far as the boys were concerned)solution to the dilemma. Once Dean was out of surgery and awake facing at least two weeks in hospital, Dad had announced that he was dropping Sam at Pastor Jim's and he was going to finish the job. Sam had stayed there for 10 days before Dad had come by to pick him up and then they'd driven back to where Dean was in hospital. He'd been relieved to get back and see him, but he'd never really thought what the wait must have been like for Dean, He'd had nearer two weeks alone in a hospital without a visitor, 12 days alone, waiting to see if they would in fact come back at all. What must that have been like? It had never been mentioned again, Dean had come with them, it had taken his leg awhile to recover completely and Dean had been subdued for longer still but Sam realised he'd always just put it down to discomfort from the leg as Dean had always been one to manage on the minimum amount of painkillers that he could.

'Sam?'

'Yeah. Ready to get back to bed? Have to find you a nice girl to keep you company bro?'

'Nah. I'd prefer a good sleep.'

'Woah! What have you done with my brother?' a slight smirk raced across Dean's face but didn't stay long enough to signify a real change in his mood.

'Do you want something to eat? I hadn't realised how late it was, guess I slept longer than usual huh?' Sam kept his voice light and easy as he watched for a response from his older brother.

'I'm sorry Sam. I kept you up.'

'Dean, it's okay, you'd do it for me wouldn't you?' He waited for an acknowledgement before continuing, 'I don't mind doing it for you, same thing, brothers look out for one another.'

He only just caught Dean's mumbled response, 'shouldn't have to look out for me, I'm supposed to look out for you, my job, big brother.'

'Dean, brothers! It's not just one way, we have each other's backs, so quit saying sorry. I'd be pissed if you asked someone else and not me.'

'Dad would have something to say…'

'And we wouldn't listen. Or I wouldn't anyway because it would be crap. Now settle down here, you want anything?'

'Yeah, the painkillers.'

Sam's eyes widened in surprise but he said nothing as he picked up the cup to refresh the water in it and went to find the tablets. When he returned, he saw how Dean's hands were still shaking and without comment, helped him hold the cup steady as he swallowed the tablets. Then he waited as his brother laid back against the wall and closed his eyes. As his eyes opened again, Sam spoke up, 'They for your leg? Shall I check it again?'

'Give me a minute, might be okay once they kick in.'

'It was bad last night. Maybe I should check it, just in case.'

'Sam…' he didn't continue until Sam looked up at him, 'please just hang on, let them start to work first. It hurts.' Sam nodded, this admission from Dean meant a lot, signified just how badly it hurt, Dean wouldn't have said anything unless… he could hang on for a while but didn't want to leave it too long worried what might be lurking beneath the bandages. 'In the car, there's some stuff, it might help, antibiotics, got them a while back, you know, just in case, don't like taking 'em but maybe this time, might help.'

'I'll fetch them.'

'While you're out, get breakfast.'

'You feel like something to eat? That's good, what do you want?'

'Not me. Not yet, still feel a bit sick, I'll be okay for now, maybe a bit later, but you need something. You could bring me something to drink, besides water. Don't rush, I'm just gonna rest for a bit.'

'Okay, let's just get you more comfortable then I'll go, but I won't be gone long.' He helped Dean get into a more settled position and put a pillow behind his head, 'You want the TV on for company?' he waited for a nod before flicking it on and leaving the remote by his brother's hand. 'Here's your phone, in case you think of anything you want me to get or…' he left the rest unsaid and saw Dean mouth the word 'go' silently before letting his eyes close.

He pulled on clothes and grabbed the keys from the table before casting one last look at his brother on the way out of the door.

The door closed and Dean's eyes opened again, relieved to be alone with time to think. He tried to piece back together all the bits of memories from the previous few days. He remembered they'd been doing some research, they'd cleaned all the guns but what had they been researching and where were they. He struggled for a while longer before remembering something coming at them in a wood – the Mambolin, shit it had been going for Sammy, he stepped in front of him, he'd shot it but it had got his leg, that one extra long claw, it had gone straight through. It had been one grotesque creature. Had they killed it? Yes, if he concentrated he was pretty sure they had, then Sammy had helped him back to the car and back here. He remembered he'd upset Sammy but when, what had he done exactly? Was it before they'd got there? He didn't think so, not absolutely sure but near enough. Was it when he fell outside? He seemed to remember Sam having told him to wait but he hadn't. Something told him that wasn't it either. But he'd managed to piece most of the previous events together although he still couldn't remember where they were but things were improving. With relief he closed his eyes again, truly trying to rest this time.

When Sam opened the door a short while later, he looked first at his brother before creeping in to the room. Dean looked like he'd gone back to sleep. He closed the door behind him. At the click of the lock, he heard Dean gasp. 'Hey, it's okay, it's only me.'

'Must have drifted off there.'

'That's good, you're better off resting. I thought I'd bring breakfast back here so you weren't on your own for too long.'

'I'm fine Sam, I can manage on my own, I've done it before.'

'I know, but that's the point Dean, you don't have to do it on your own this time. Now how about I look at that leg and you take some of these antibiotics. I've read the packet and you need to eat something though, so if I sort your leg first, then I got you a choice of bagels, you could have one of them with the first tablet.'

'If it keeps you happy…'

'Yeah, it'll keep me happy, bro.'

Dean smiled in acquiescence.


	6. Healing

_**Chapter 6 - Healing**_

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_**Disclaimer:** see chapter one._

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It took a few days but Dean's leg gradually began to heal, the wound stopped looking so angry, the blood stopped seeping through and the tear began to show signs that it would knit. It still caused Dean discomfort but Sam kept it clean and dressed and Dean took the antibiotics and more painkillers than Sam had ever known him take. So when the day came that Dean refused them, Sam was reassured that it was finally healing properly. 

They'd talked a lot over those few days, reminiscing with amusing anecdotes from their childhood, Sam telling Dean about his time at Stanford, Dean had even shared tales of a couple of the jobs he'd been on alone whilst Sam had been away. Nothing substantial, no dangerous territory, just a gentle gradual healing of another type of wound.

Now, however, Dean was beginning to get stir crazy and so it was with some relief that he was finally able to stand and walk a short distance alone. The weather was fine so Sam put him a chair outside the door of the motel and he made his way there to sit and soak up the sun whilst watching the world go by. When Sam returned from a walk an hour later, his mood was relaxed. Sam went past him and into the room picking up their bags and dumping them on the nearest bed. 'What are you doing in there, dude?'

Sam smirked, 'Just thought we might both appreciate some clean clothes. Otherwise when we start hunting again, the demons will smell us coming.'

'Oh, right.' He was getting tired again, Sam could tell, the snark just wasn't there when he got tired. Sam had a strong suspicion it meant that the pain was getting too much, but if Dean didn't want to take the painkillers he wasn't going to force them on him.

He was almost through sorting his bag when his hand touched the envelope he'd put out all those days ago. He drew it from the bag and looked at it, then moved round to prop it on the nightstand next to Dean's bed. Now would be a good time to heal some more wounds.

Stuffing both sets of dirty washing into his own bag, he walked to the door. 'You want a hand back in, before I go?'

'No, I'm good. I'll maybe go in a minute, have a lie down. I think I might be up to some real food tonight though.'

'Real food, Dean?' Like food with vegetables?'

'Well, maybe. Or maybe I mean real food like burger and fries or pizza. What do you reckon?'

'Sounds good. I'm glad you're thinking that way, I could go with either myself.' Okay so Dean's idea of real food wasn't necessarily really healthy, but at least he was thinking of eating again. He'd not eaten more than a bagel or toast in days now.

'Remember, separate your darks and lights. Don't shrink anything and…'

'I can manage the washing without your tips, Dean. Trust me. I'll be back in a while and we'll decide on food then unless you…'

'Like I said, I'm good. Now go. I'll go sit inside soon; it's getting cooler out here. You have left me something else I can put on in there?'

'Yeah. See you soon.'

Dean watched him go and sighed. He was feeling the cold, he figured it probably had something to do with not moving around. Sam was more than likely right, he should go inside and with that he eased himself up and walked slowly back inside, dragging the chair with him. He pushed the door to behind him, abandoning the chair to the side and heading wearily for his bed.

Gratefully, he sank down onto the bed. It took him a few minutes to summon up the energy to pull his legs up onto the bed and he winced at the pain it induced to do so. He made himself as comfortable as possible and then closed his eyes, hoping that the throbbing would cease. He'd told Sam he didn't need the painkillers anymore, the pain wasn't so bad, it hadn't been the truth. In a truth he would only acknowledge even to himself when Sam wasn't around, his leg was still agony most of the time, but at least he could test it out now, test out his own endurance. There was no point in masking it, or not from himself anyway.

He opened his eyes to reach for the TV remote, maybe he could find something worth watching that would take his mind off the leg. His eyes settled on an envelope propped on the nightstand. He reached over and took it, wondering what Sam was playing at now.

He opened it and took out the papers inside and started to read.

_Dear Dean,_

_You would probably find it amusing to know that this is not the first time I have started this letter. It's not even the second or third, there is a growing pile of screwed up balls of paper next to me on the floor. Why is it that it is so difficult to write to you? Even the assignments I've been doing haven't been this hard to write, do you realise that?_

He sighed. No wonder Sam had been tiptoeing round him for the last few days. He must have found the letters. Little Shit! Going through other people's bags, didn't he know the meaning of the word 'private'. Dean sighed, he had no doubt whatsoever that Sam was going to want to talk as well. Sam was nothing if not predictable.

He sighed again and went back to reading the letters. It was hard to believe how muchthey'd talked over the last few days but neither had really touched on the truth of being apart, what Sam would call the really important stuff.

_Don't worry, I've no intention of telling them anything about my past but it makes me sad that because I say nothing about the past, I say nothing about you, about how you did all you did for me and got me here where I wanted to be._

Dean closed his eyes. How easy it had been to assume that Sam had gone there, made friends and never thought about what he'd left behind, that he'd forgotten his brother. Dean regretted his misguided thoughts that his brother had been selfish. He hadn't realised that it would be so hard for him to fit in, so many things he'd never experienced, things Dean hadn't known about and so hadn't been able to teach him.

_In my heart, I have believed for a long time now that the life you and Dad are leading is not the life Mom wanted for us. I know that you will say I don't remember her and that you and Dad do and that I shouldn't talk about things I don't understand but Dean, I do understand. I understand, because for all of my life, you made sure that I knew just how much Mom loved me. You told me about what it was like before she died, the things she did and how she smelled and looked and smiled and spoke._

He regretted how often he forgot that Sam had never known Mom, that all he had to go on were his descriptions, regretted that Sam had never known her and relied on his patchy memory to build a picture of her and that he had long ago become unsure of which bits were real memories and which bits were stories he made up to fill in the gaps for Sam. That between them, they could never get her back, never work out what was real, what she would have really wanted. He wiped tears from his eyes and picked up the next letter.

_I have written the most god-awful letter to you and I know it will hurt you and I hate myself for it but I don't know what else to say to you. I've said I don't want you to come and join me anymore but it isn't entirely true. _

He remembered the letter Sam had sent, the one telling him he didn't want him anymore, the one telling him he was a loser, okay not in those words, but it was what he had believed Sam had meant. Yet here was a letter saying he hadn't meant it, a letter that said he had wanted to protect Dean from realising he wouldn't fit in with Sam's friends, a letter saying that he still worried about Dean being safe and well.

Maybe Sam was right, maybe they did need to talk. It was going to be anything but easy, maybe they could do it bit by bit, not all at once, he didn't think he could manage that. Sam was right they needed to sort things out.

'Hey you. Ready for something to eat then?'

'Sam.' He looked up at his brother. He needed to say something, make some acknowledgement of what he'd read, what he'd learnt. 'Umm. Errr! Thanks and erm… maybe we should talk about…' well if he was going to do this well throughout he wasn't making a good start, maybe there wasn't much point in talking, maybe this would put Sam off talking.

'Yeah, sure! Later or whatever! But like I said Food, we need sustenance, man. Pizza or burger?' Relief washed over Sam, and he knew that now was the time to deflect, it would be too stressful to start talking about it all straightaway, a little here and a little there and soon things would be easier.

'Whichever is closer.'

'We've never picked what we eat that way before?' Sam half-laughed. 'Burger it is then. The usual with all the trimmings?'

'Sure.' He didn't sound convinced but Sam just wanted him to eat something more substantial than he'd consumed in the last few days.

'Back soon.'

Maybe the conversation could start as they ate. A little bit here and a little bit there and gradually old wounds and scars would heal. They'd be all right, the Winchester boys. They would have one another's backs at least for now. And when they were no longer hunting together, well they would always be brothers and they would still have one another's backs, it would just be different and different wasn't always bad.

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_**Author's Note: Okay, so I'm amending this. This was supposed to be the last chapter but then an Epilogue came to me and needed to be written, so there is one more to read - they've started talking - how does it go? Read on to find out.**_


	7. Epilogue Picking up & Starting Anew

**_Pick Up The Pieces And Start Again _**

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_**Disclaimer:** Neither Sam, Dean nor Supernatural are in anyway mine (unfortunately) – see E. Kripke and CW for ownership details._

_**Summary:** A companion piece to the end of 'A Letter Home'_

_**Rating:** Some bad language**

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**Author's Note:So I figured, maybe, just maybe, I could set the boys on the path of talking - but just the start of it. Please do read and review - Has this storyworked?**

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**_Epilogue – Picking up and Starting Anew_**

'Dean?' Sam was driving again. They were back on the road but Dean's leg was still not fully recovered and so while he took a turn at driving whenever Sam needed a break, he couldn't hold out for long before the pain got too much.

'Hmm. What?' Dean's eyes came back to his brother from where he had been staring aimlessly out of the side window. 'Yeah?'

'I wanted to say… about those letters…I'm sorry… I … I didn't know that that was what they were when I started to read them. I mean I figured it out pretty quick but I just wondered why you hadn't sent them until I read them and…'

'It's alright, Sam,' Dean half-sighed. He knew he needed to talk to Sam, really talk, something meaningful, but he just wasn't good at it. It had never been their way to talk things out, quiet getting on or out and out screaming matches, but not much in between really. 'A lot of it was stuff I should have told you before. I'm sorry.'

'Dean, did you want to leave? Before I went I mean? Did you think about going? Starting out somewhere, I don't know a job or college, something?'

'No. I didn't, not really, not since I was really young. I used to think about what I wanted after it was all over, but even that was a long time ago.'

'Why?'

'Don't take this the wrong way because I would still choose the same now, it's a decision that I never had to make, it was just the way it should be. I couldn't leave you and Dad, I thought you needed me.'

'I did.'

'You'd have managed without me. It was probably more that I was too cowardly to start out without the two of you.'

'Dean, I needed you so much when I was younger, I didn't know it. It was just the way it was, I came home to you, it was you who made sure I was okay, school work done, no hassle from anyone, food, clothes, growing up: you took care of just about everything didn't you? It wasn't Dad. I don't think I ever realised that until…'

'It's okay, Sam. I was holding on too tight when you went that's all. It was a shock to my system. Never was much of a planner for the future, so I hadn't really thought about what it would be like with no you. Stupid, huh?'

'No, Dean, not stupid. Just you.'

'Stupid then, like I said. There you go.'

Dean shifted uncomfortably trying to ease the pain in his leg.

'You okay? You want to stop?' Sam had seen the discomfort in Dean's face. He was fairly sure it was caused by his leg, but there was always the possibility that its actual cause was the conversation.

'Nah! I'm good.'

'You do know I don't believe you when you say that.' Sam softened the statement by casting a grin in his brother's direction

'Very funny... Sam, why didn't you send me that letter when you first got there? Why was I so difficult to write to?' The unspoken part of the question, the part Dean didn't want to acknowledge he needed to ask was '_Why am I so easy to leave behind?'_

'I didn't want to let you down. I wanted you there with me. I knew that if I made contact with you, you'd come and I didn't know how to stay there if you offered me a way out when I felt so out of my depth all the time. Going with you would have been the easy way out, I needed to make myself stick it out long enough to see if I could do it. It never got any easier not having you to talk to though. Even when I was with Jess, there was part of me that still missed you. The fitting in was okay but I still missed your bad jokes and all. You know the hardest part of going was leaving you, not the arguments with Dad and all that shit obviously. It was leaving you and not knowing how to look after myself cause you'd always done it for me – you brought me up more or less by yourself..'

'Huh!'

'Dean, what I said about Christmas with Jessica and her family? I'm sorry.'

'It's okay, Sam. I understand now. I didn't when you wrote first but I get it. Your other letter… it made sense… Dad and I are not exactly easy to present in public are we? Maybe, I should work on that… do you think?'

'You shouldn't have to change. It's other people's loss.'

'Yeah right!' he snorted in disbelief, 'don't get carried away. You've said it before I'm antisocial, my people skills are zero and I don't know how to be legit.'

'Put it like that and maybe we could do some work, bro.' Sam smiled.

'Yeah, 'cos you never know when this gig could all be over.'

'Okay then, well we better start work right away then 'cos you've got a lot to learn!'

'It didn't take you long to change your tune.'

'I think we should start by working out what you would want to do after…'

'Yeah.' His tone was suddenly disinterested, distinctly lacking in enthusiasm.

'Dean, it's okay to think about it. It doesn't mean we're stopping this, we're just keeping options open for later…'

'Sam, not that one, not right now. Please leave that one until later. I can't think of after yet...'

Sam nodded acquiescence and frowned as the traffic round him increased as he joined the jam.

'Sam, you okay for a while driving?'

'Uh-huh.'

'In the spirit of honesty and trust, my leg is not so good, I'm going to take something for it and try and get some sleep' maybe it really was time to be honest with Sam, not just about the past but about the present. Dean was encountering the realisation, that Sam knew his leg was bad, he knew his leg was bad so what was the point in hiding it, particularly when hiding it wasn't getting any benefit. No-one was worrying less because he was trying to hide it and if he took something for it, he might get some actual proper rest which ironically enough might help it heal. 'You mind? We'll talk more later, I want to ask you some stuff and well… you got to start work on getting me house-trained!'

'You mean that?'

'Which bit?'

'Any?'

'All, Sam. All.

* * *


End file.
